Page 22 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)

“Up, up, up, up up up.” His voice broke through her sleep, hands shaking her gently. “Up, my queen.” She tried to blink away the sleep, but everything about her current situation lent itself to nestling back into the warmth of the bed.

“Not yet,” she mumbled, reaching for his wrist.

“You’ve got to get up, highness.” She heard the rising panic in his voice.

“Lance?” She sat up, rubbing her tired eyes. “Are you well?”

“No, mon amour , I am not.” He took her by the hands, dragging her from his bed. “I am due to be knighted in fifteen minutes, and the king’s wife is asleep in my bed and wearing my clothing.” In the dimly lit room, she watched as he pulled a hand through his hair. “I am far from ok, dear.”

Her brain reeled, not quite awake enough to process everything that spilt from his mouth. “I’ll go, I’ll leave.” She muttered, searching the room for… What was she searching for?

“You can’t just walk out.” He grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her back from the doorknob. “What if your ladies-in-waiting are by your door? What if the guard is here to fetch you?” His eyes were wild.

“Yes,” she nodded, still a little dazed. “Yes, of course. ”

He stood there, mouth slightly ajar, looking at her.

“I’m sorry. What am I supposed to do?” She asked, dragging her hand down her face. “Lance, you’ve got-” She reached towards him, tightening the tabard knot on his shoulder. Her fingers smoothed the wrinkled fabric. “There, perfect.” She patted him on the chest, beaming.

“You’ve got to go.” He stepped around her, pulling the door open. “I’m so sorry, you’ve got to go. I love you, go.” His eyes met hers, wide.

The room held its breath. The air stilled around them.

Guinevere opened her mouth — but she didn’t even have time to speak.

His mouth was on hers, hands framing her face, lips pressed roughly against hers.

Not a gentle kiss, not careful. She felt like she was falling, flying. His mouth moved against hers like he was drinking in every piece of her he’d never dare to claim.

The bell rang once.

Dawn.

He pulled back from her, pupils blown wide. “Go, my queen.” he nudged her out the door, slamming it behind her.

Her mind hadn’t caught up quite yet. She slipped into her chambers, mindlessly grabbing a gown from her wardrobe.

As she dressed, his words danced through her mind.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

She had to be at his knighting ceremony — even if this was the second one he had earned.

Quickly, she dressed, tucking his tunic inside the blankets of her bed like a secret. A prayer.

She stopped by her vanity for a moment, hands twisting her hair into plaits before she could think. “No,” she whispered, smiling, and let her hair fall down her shoulders, loose and untamed.

She hurried through the halls, praying that she would not be late.

As she slipped through the door, Arthur was standing in front of the court, hands clasped in front of him. But the ceremony had yet to begin.

She squared her shoulders, holding her chin high as she walked past the gathering crowd, taking her spot on her throne.

The king narrowed his eyes as he turned to face her.

He lifted his hand — pinched a lock of her hair between his fingers as a gentle look of disdain flashed across his features.

“I awoke dismayed to find you not by my side, wife.” His voice was sharp, but found no purchase on her soul.

“Apologies, your grace.” She lilted, a soft smile tugging at the corner of her lip.

Lancelot entered through the main doors. His hair was loose, curls framing his face as he confidently strolled down the middle of the room.

“Kneel, Lancelot du Lac.” Arthur’s words rang throughout the room.

Lancelot knelt down on one knee, a smirk on his lips as he waited.

Arthur stepped forward, lifting the ceremonial sword. “The crown of Camelot calls you Lancelot du Lac,” he declared. “To rise in her service. To take your oath, and your place among her knights.”

He raised the blade to Lancelot’s shoulder .

“You have protected valiantly. Led with honor. You will henceforth be known as Champion of Camelot.”

A hush fell over the court. Gwen’s stomach churned in her stomach as she watched mischief flash across the knight’s eyes.

Lancelot lifted his gaze — not to Arthur, but to Guinevere. “With your permission, my king.” His eyes shifted to Arthur’s. “Might I offer one correction?”

A rumble of whispers erupted from the crowd.

The king nodded, brow knitted.

“I was knighted, not first by a king, but a queen.” A ripple of gasps from the court. “It is her honor I carry, your grace.” He grinned, a wide and almost malicious thing. “I am the Queen’s Champion.”

Her heart lodged in her throat as the entire world stilling around them. She rose, slowly, shakily. “He speaks truly.” She tried to keep her own words steady. “I did knight him, quietly, without fanfare.” She stepped closer to where the king stood, where her knight kneeled.

Her cheeks flushed as he watched her through hooded eyes, palms beginning to sweat.

“I owe no explanations to Camelot.” Her words grew stronger.

“But as I fled my home, I wanted to do so with one who had promised his life for her.” She swallowed hard.

“I wanted a knight by my side as I hid from the threats on my life.”

She held his gaze. “Let us not forget, when a queen knights a man, it stands.”

Arthur’s jaw was clenched so tight it was a wonder he didn’t shatter. A roar of applause enveloped the court. The king turned his back on the crowd, and Lancelot stole a glance at her.

Stole a wink.

Her face flushed, she fought not to roll her eyes.

“Rise, Sir Lancelot of Camelot.” Arthur called from his throne. “Champion of the Queen.”

The knight rose to his feet with a flourish. “A knight… once born, twice sworn.” He sheathed his sword. “Once to a king, once to a queen.” He turned to leave. “Tell me, which vow do you think I will forsake first?”

Right before he exited, he turned on his heels, bowing deep. “Ever yours, my queen.”

“Ah!” Arthur spoke again, exclaiming loudly. “How could I be so daft, Sir Lancelot, I forgot. Come,” He waved him back to the dais. “Citizens of Camelot, we have been so blessed by Sir Lancelot and his duty to the queen. I have chosen him to lead the hunt for the Holy Grail.”

Another wave of shouts coasted through the room.

“He, along with several other knights, leave at first light. Join me in prayer that they might return with the treasure we have sought for so long.”

Gwen’s heart stopped beating in her chest.

She was still being punished.